


Friday

by dudewhatswiththeshorts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bartender Dean, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Toys (mentioned), bottom castiel (mentioned), bottom dean (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewhatswiththeshorts/pseuds/dudewhatswiththeshorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday

Dean Winchester has a schedule. Mondays are bar nights. He hangs out with the guys: Benny, Sammy, Ash. They talk about their jobs, their families. It’s preparation for the beginning of the week.

Tuesday, Dean has no time for fun. He works all day, fixing cars in his uncle Bobby’s auto repair shop, bartending at The Roadhouse, and occasionally babysitting for a single mother if she gets the night shift at her work.

Wednesday, Benny and Dean hang out. Dean has few friends, and Benny’s been with him for what feels like forever. He likes to talk with the guy, watch football and kick back with a beer.

Thursdays is pie night with the girls. He didn’t mean for that to happen. He went to his favorite diner and ordered a slice of pecan, ran into Charlie, and now it’s part of his week. Sometimes Jo tags along, on occasion it’s Jody. He likes when she brings her friend Donna. That woman’s a kick in the pants.

Fridays are Dean’s favorite nights. He has a shift at the roadhouse from six to midnight, and he almost always gets laid. Dean’s not gonna lie–he’s an attractive sonofabitch. He’s got a model type of face and broad shoulders that make up for his lack of exercise and love of food. He’s a flirt and he knows how to work his way into a woman’s pants.

“Oh, so you’re a mechanic too?” She’s a blonde with obvious brown roots that fade together without flaw. Her eyelashes are long–probably fake–and she’s got a chain of freckles that are peaking out from the bronzer that she put on. Dean likes girls like these. Flirty, pretty, simple.

Dean leans against the bar as he dries a martini glass with an old dish rag, “Yup. Know my way around a car. Especially my baby. A ’67 Chevy. She’s the most important woman in my life. Know my way around her like I know my way around a lady.”

The blonde furrows her brow at Dean’s words, but the girl next to her giggles. This one’s a little shy for Dean’s liking–light brown bob and some clear lipgloss and a constant hiding place behind her friend–but she seems nice enough.

“I’m going to fix my hair.” The blonde says, and Dean nods at her. He places the martini glass down and picks up another one. He wipes the droplets of water off the tinged-blue glass as he flirts with the blonde’s friend. Apparently her name is Diana and she’s from Nevada, road tripping with her cousin Rebecca.

“What brings y’all to California?” Dean asks, smiling widely at the girl. She grins back and takes a sip of her drink.

“We love the beach. Also the whether is absolutely perfect,” she spouts on about typical California tourist attractions, “We’re hoping to get our asses over to Hollywood, maybe San Fran too, or something, I don’t know. We’re just going where the world takes us, you know?” Dean nods even though he doesn’t really know. The world’s never taken him anywhere. He’s always been in charge of his choices, no matter how shitty. If the world had been the one taking him places, Dean would’ve had a smoother journey, he’s sure of it.

“Excuse me for one moment,” Dean says to Diana. He doesn’t want any bad memories to float to the surface, so he decides to switch with Ash and service the other half of the bar. There’s a few girls he flirts with, coaxes into buying more drinks and tipping more than necessary, but he mostly just takes drink orders.

He lasts three hours without any serious wooing before he gets horny and is scouting his half of the bar for a girl he can take home. Most of the people on his side are older, burly guys who don’t bring dates to places like this on Friday nights. Theres a couple girls, but they’re either too young, or too high maintenance (you can tell how prissy someone is by the type of drink they order, Dean’s learned) for Dean’s liking.

He’s craving someone to flirt with, someone to laugh at his jokes and shoot up his ego. He really doesn’t care who the girl is at this point, he just really wants to get laid. He almost tries to loosen up a girl in the corner wearing a red crop top (to this bar? Seriously?) when someone starts timidly calling out to him.

“Um, bartender?” He would laugh at the formality of the call if he wasn’t so strung tonight. He sighs and makes his way over to the gravelly voice.

It’s a man he’s seen around only a few times before. He’s handsome in a different way than Dean is. Dean is very supermodel–blondish-brown hair styled to look messy, broad shoulders and narrow hips, a rugged golden beard and a slight dust of freckles across his cheeks and nose, highlighting his green eyes.

No, this man is very…rugged. He’s in a trench coat (which, Dean will admit, kind of works on the dude) that makes him look slim by drowning him in layers of fabric. He has dark hair and matching stubble that drops down his cheeks and chin. The thing that stands out the most of all, though, are the electric blue eyes. Dean’s always found it incredibly hot when someone has bright eyes like that and dark hair. The shades clash so violently it almost feels wrong. 

“What can I do for ya?” Dean asks, leaning against the bar. The man is definitely more interesting up close, Dean thinks and he suddenly has a strong craving to hear the man talk some more. To hear the deep rumble that had called him over in the first place.

“Uh,” the man starts. He looks so out of his element, Dean notices, and he instantly drops his rough demeanor and shifts into a softer, more welcoming one, “I’ll, uh, have one beer. Please.”

The lack of affirmation in the man’s voice is concerning and Dean’s eyebrows knit together, “You okay, man?”

“Of course.”

Dean notices how defensive the guy gets and he clear up his intentions, “It’s just that you sound so, uh, unsure.” The man immediately deflates and Dean lets go of a breath he was unaware he was holding.

The man grimaces, “I…I do not get out much. I work a lot. Days I am not working I am relaxing in my home.”

“I feel you, man,” Dean replies, nodding his head, “I work three jobs. If I didn’t work at a bar I’d probably rarely meet anyone.”

There’s a strange flare of something wonderful and scary as the man tilts his head to consider Dean’s words, “Three jobs?” He asks.

“Yeah, three,” Dean affirms. He swallows and looks down at the bar, tracing the veins in the wood,”My family went through a rough patch a couple years ago and so my little brother Sam dropped out of college to help out. I started working a couple years ago to get him back on track.” It’s more information that Dean meant to give, but he decides to tell this guy more. His eyes flicker up to meet blue ones. “Luckily, he’s now almost finished law school.” The reluctance has now morphed into pride and he feels a little better about the overshare.

The man nods at Dean’s words, unaware of the battle in the bartender’s head. “I bet you’re very proud.”

“I am.” Dean says, and he means it. He’s real proud of his kid brother.

The blue-eyed man seems to contemplate saying something for a moment. He nods slightly to himself, eyes squinting slightly before he asks, “Why haven’t you gone back to college?”

Dean’s slightly taken aback by this question. He almost throws a fit and yells at the man for being too personal, but instead he takes a breath and shrugs, “I like my jobs. College was never my thing, anyway.” 

It’s not exactly a lie, Dean thinks. College never was his thing. He never had a chance to go. His dad made him work with him at his PI job before he finally got out when the old man collapsed do to his drinking problem. Sam came out to stay with their dying dad for a bit. A bit turned into a year and then two years and then a funeral. The two made enough money working in various places to get Sam back to college. Dean kept the jobs after everything. He didn’t know what else to do.

“Castiel.” The man says to Dean suddenly. His eyebrows are knit in concentration again and he looks at Dean with a look of concern. A look a mother would give a child.

“What?” Dean asks, because he’s a dumb ass and has no idea what the man is even talking about or what the fuck Castiel is.

The man looks irritated. He sighs grumpily, “My name is Castiel. What is yours?”

Dean’s eyes widen in understanding. Castiel is a fucking name. Of course. There’s all sorts of weird names floating around these days.

“I’m Dean,” He introduces himself, putting out a hand that Castiel hesitantly shakes, “Good to meet you Castell.”

“It’s Castiel.”

“Oh, Sorry. Casteel.”

“Castiel. Cas-tee-el.”

“Oh. Oh. Cas-tee-el. Castiel.” 

_Castiel_ looks pleased at Dean’s correct pronunciation and he squeezes Dean’s hand. Dean realizes that they’re still shaking hands and so he removes his from the shake and instead shoves it in his pocket, “Anyway,” he starts again, clearing his throat, “What beer d’you want?”

Another look of horror crosses Cas’s face and Dean sighs heavily, “Would you like me to grab you something on tap?” He offers and Castiel nods hesitantly.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.” Castiel says stiffly. Dean nods and grins at the clinical way that the man talks. He likes it.

Dean works for a few minutes more. He gets Castiel his beer, taking a few other orders including one from a regular named Rufus (an old pal of his uncle Bobby’s) who always gets the strongest whiskey they have that night.

Without meaning to, Dean finds himself coming back to Castiel.

“So, you mentioned your work earlier, “ Dean smoothly slides into conversation, “Where do you work?”

Castiel’s face puckers into one of dislike. Dean finds himself amused at all the faces the man makes.

“I work for my…father. He owns Novak Capital downtown. I mostly go to meetings and call up the people willing to advertise. I don’t do nearly as much as my brothers.” 

Dean must look ridiculous right now because Novak Capital is one of the richest companies that Sam has ever worked for. Dean doesn’t pay much attention to things in the world, but he definitely pays attention to his brother. From what Sam told him, this guy’s got the big bucks.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing here then?” Dean laughs. Something in the back of his mind is telling him to shut the hell up and go back to work and get the hell away from Castiel Novak, because someone as _fan-fucking-tastic_ as Castiel should not be talking to someone as low on the food chain as Dean. Another part of him scolds himself for acting like he’s back in high school and that there’s a social food chain again.

“I… don’t understand,” Castiel questions, taking a sip of his beer. He looks at Dean with intensity and Dean furrows his eyebrows in response.

“Man, you’re loaded. And yet you’re here. At the Roadhouse. A sad, sad little shack with old men sitting at a bar of rotting wood.” Dean slaps his hands against the bar for effect, but then he sooth a hand over the wood. He loves the Roadhouse despite what he says, “You could go anywhere. Why here?” 

Dean finds himself incredibly intrigued by the tongue that peaks out between chapped lips. His eyes eventually make it back up to Castiel’s blue, blue eyes, but the thought of the pink tongue sends a shiver down his spine.

Castiel shrugs and takes a long drink of beer. He grimaces after words, but replies to Dean’s question nonetheless, “It’s close to work,” he traces a finger with fascination around the rim of the glass, “I also quite like it here. The atmosphere is…”

“Sexy?” Dean volunteers.

“Homey.” Castiel smiles slightly and Dean realizes it’s the first time that night Dean’s seen him happy. For a split second he wonders what the man would look like drunk and grins to himself at the thought, “Hey, Castiel,” he says innocently. He stiffens from where he’s leaning on the bar and walks over to the shelves where they keep the shot glasses, “Like whiskey?”

 

Dean doesn’t really know how it happened. He somehow started drinking with Castiel and soon everything became a little hazy. The innocent conversation the two were having soon morphed into flirting (more on Dean’s side than Castiel’s) and the minute Dean got off his shift, they were piling into Dean’s ’67 Chevy Impala.

“Whoa. Slow down there, cowboy,” Dean teased as Castiel shoved him into the backseat. He climbed on top of Dean, legs on either side of Dean’s thighs. One of Dean’s legs was out the door and the other was thrown over Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel was laying sloppy kisses up Dean’s neck, his hands rubbing all over Dean’s hipbones and crawling up his shirt to his stomach, “I don’t want stains in my–uhn–in my car. Your– _fuck_ –your place?”

Somehow Castiel found all of Dean’s sweet spots. One behind his ear, one here his neck and shoulder connected, one on the nape of his neck. His hand was dangerously close to Dean’s crotch (his pants were embarrassingly tight), and Dean almost changes his mind about moving locations, deciding he wouldn’t mind fucking in his baby.

He restrains himself somehow and sits up a little, moving his leg off of Castiel’s shoulder and placing the foot hanging out onto the floor of his car. 

“Was it not pleasurable?” Castiel asks Dean, head tilting, breath coming quicker than normal. Dean shudders at that picture, a completely sexed-up Castiel Novak.

Dean shakes his head and runs his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair, “Naw, man. You feel fucking great. Just wanna get on a bed. Wanna feel you properly.” 

Dean didn’t know he had such a way with words, but Castiel groans at wha he says and scrambles off Dean. They get out of the car before finding their respectable seats (Castiel at the steering wheel considering he’s the least drunk of the two. The man can hold his liquor like a champ) and peeling out of the parking lot.

Dean’s on edge. His dick is throbbing the tight confinements of his jeans, the buzz of alcohol strong in his veins. There’s a flicker of fear under his skin and he rubs his hands on his thighs. 

He’s never been with a man.

He’s never had sex with a man, kissed a man, dated a man. He knows that he’s had crushes on guys before– everyone has had crushes on the same sex at one time in their life. Right? It’s mostly been movie characters for Dean, though, like Doctor Sexy and Han Solo. Any Harrison Ford character, really.

Dean tries not to think too hard about that.

They get to Castiel’s house in fifteen minutes, scrambling out of the impala as quickly as they possibly could and swiftly walking to the door. Dean is murmuring “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” rubbing circles on Castiel’s hips with his palms. The man grunts at the feeling, yanking Dean through the door the minute it opens. He closes and locks it before immediately backing Dean up against the nearest wall.

“Oh God,” Dean breaths as Castiel grinds their hips together, “Oh fuck, oh God, oh–” he is then silenced by Castiel’s lips crashing against his. Dean wraps an arms around the slightly shorter man’s waist, the other tangling in his messy hair. Castiel is rubbing his hands under Dean’s shirt, up and down his sides as he sucks on Dean’s tongue.

They separate to breath, Castiel moving and latching onto Dean’s jaw. He nibbles and licks and sucks down Dean’s neck to his shoulder where he pulls the collar to the side and kisses it. Dean shudders, feeling every little crease of Castiel’s lips, every slide of skin against his.

“Where’s– _uhn_ –your bed?” he manages to ask as Cas’s hand comes down to cup his half hard cock through his pants.

“Down the hall.” Castiel growls and Dean shudders. 

Castiel presses off Dean and he follows the blue-eyed man down the hall as fast as he can, brain muddled and clouded with lust. He’s light headed and slightly giddy from the alcohol, trailing his hands all over Castiel’s back. He slows them down, tugging Castiel to his chest and rubbing his hands over his stomach, his nipples his throat. Castiel moans at the feeling and turns his head to the side, encasing Dean’s lips in a hot kiss. 

Somehow they make it to Castiel’s bedroom in a flurry of lips and hands. Dean shoves Castiel onto the bed (he vaguely notices the bedspread is navy blue), climbing up after him and straddling the man. They’re cocks touch through layers of fabric and Dean makes a noise deep in his throat and grinds down, happy at he choked noise it brings Castiel.

Castiel yanks at Dean’s hair, grabs at Dean back and pulls him down for another, breathtaking kiss. The man’s hands tickle the back of Dean’s neck, cup his ass and stroke his lower back as his tongue slides against his lips, his tongue. Dean didn’t know kissing someone could be so sensual, so intimate. He pulls away before he gets carried away in the man’s lips and instead helps Castiel remove his heavy trench coat. Of course he has to be in a blazer after that, a button up, and a tie following close behind. It takes Dean a solid five minutes to get every article of clothing off the man before he removes his own shirt and pants. 

“Oh my fucking God,” Dean chokes, because Castiel is muscled. Not terribly muscular, but his pecs are defined and his biceps are thick and Dean can’t help but run his hands down his chest and arms. The man is tan, a surprised to Dean, not too many blemishes on the golden skin except for a mole by his left nipple. Dean rubs his hands against the man’s pink nipples until they stand to a point, and Castiel moans. “Oh my God, Castiel. You’re so fucking hot,” Dean breaths, barely containing his excitement. The man under him looks flushed, completely fuckable. 

“Jesus,” Castiel replies and he squirms on the bed. The movement causes the two men’s cocks to rub against each other, this time without as many barriers, only their boxers, and it elicits a dirty groan from Castiel and a filthy moan from Dean, “Dean. Fuck, Dean. Mmm, you look so fucking good on top. I can see all of you.”

Dean’s breathing stutters and he leans down, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s as they grind together. His face is against Castiel’s stubbly cheek, breath hot on the man’s ear. “Keep going,” he whispers breathlessly and Castiel hums an affirmative.

“So fucking–ung–good,” Castiel whispers, “Are you thinking about it? Fucking me?” His hands leave Dean’s and he grips the man’s ass instead. Dean grunts, scrambling for a hold on something. He grips the man’s shoulders instead, rutting harder, faster against Castiel. They lay sloppy kisses up each other’s necks, the only sound heavy panting.

Castiel continues talking, “Wanna finger me open?” he asks, Dean letting out a breathy “ _yes”_ in reply. Castiel smiles against Dean’s lingering lips. He licks open Dean’s mouth, tongues tangling, saliva accumulating at the corners of their mouths as they grind and feel. Castiel’s hands roam over Dean’s back and then rub over Dean’s pecs. His nipples harden under Castiel’s touch and he whines.

Castiel scoots farther up the bed, getting enough access to yank down fingers digging into the neglected-by-lack-of-sun flesh of Dean’s ass. Dean lets out a strangled cry at the feeling of his leaking cock against cotton boxers. He really feels Castiel’s warmth. The heat. The crown of his cock is adding to the wet spot Castiel’s pre cum is making against his own boxers and Dean can’t tell if he wants to put back on all his clothes, or unsheathe Castiel’s large cock from it’s confines, feel it rubbing against him.

“Mmm,” Castiel moans, “Wanna fuck me Dean? Hmm? Fuck me hard. Maybe make it sting a bit? Pull my hair, make me arch my back and moan like a whore for you?” 

“Fuck! Castiel. Cas–oh.” Dean cries. He imagines Castiel on his cock. The tight heat clenching and unclenching, milking him for everything he’s worth. Dean’s so close now, putting a hand between him and Castiel and pulling Cas out of his confines too. Castiel makes a startled noise and then hums approvingly. Dean takes both of their cocks in his hand and begins to work them.

Castiel feel so good. So different. He’s big and hot and their pre cum is mixing together, acting as lube for Dean to stroke them to completion. Cas drags his blunt fingernails down Dean’s back, “Mmm, maybe I could ride you. Have you completely at my mercy, yeah? Maybe we could get you a cute little vibrator and you can fuck yourself as you fuck me, hmm?”

Dean surprises himself, letting out a cry at that idea and he has to hold the base of his cock to calm down. He wants this to last, wants to come with Cas. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything up his ass.

Castiel makes a little sound at Dean’s reaction. He’s panting now, his black hair sticking to his face, stubble chafing against Dean’s in only the most delicious way. His eyes are bright and blue and boring into Dean as he contributes a hand down there and Dean and him are stroking each other. Dean bucks his hips as Cas thumbs his slit and he twists his writs. Castiel chokes on a moan and Dean whimpers at the sound. His breaths are coming short and now there’s a growing, building feeling in his gut. 

“Maybe,” Cas starts again, pausing to catch his breath, “Maybe, you want to be fucked by me?”

Dean arches his back, a large glob of pre cum spurting as he thinks of that, the feeling in his abdomen almost going over the edge. Almost. Castiel squeezes the head of his cock lightly and he spasms. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. The thought of Cas’s cock opening him up all nice and wide, Dean lets out a broken sob.

“Yeah? Would you like that? Maybe I’d lick you open. Get you all nice and wet and sloppy for me, finger you until you’re begging me to put my hot cock in your tight little virgin ass. Hmmm?” 

“Castiel, fuck, oh my God. Keep talking. Please, so close. Please.” Dean rambles on. The only thing he can think of now is Castiel fucking deep inside of him. He thinks of how big Castiel is and how deliciously full he’d feel with him inside. How tight he’d be for him. 

“Want me to fuck you with my big, fat cock? Maybe have some fingers in at the same time? Maybe have a toy in there too?” Dean gasps and shutters and then, with one final stroke and twist and press of the thumb, Dean’s coming. Thick white stripes of come get stuck between them and it takes all of Dean’s strength to continue giving Castiel that hand job. He does his best, does everything he likes.

After a few more strokes, Cas is coming hard and in long, white stands across his chest and Dean’s fist. The noise he makes when he comes drives Dean crazy and he groans in response. 

He lies on the bed before even thinking about cleaning up. Castiel gets up and grabs a wash cloth soaked in water. He wipes Dean down, and then himself down, tossing the rag on the floor. He crawls up the bed and flops his head onto the pillow, facing Dean. Dean smiles lazily at Castiel. He wants to say something witty to loosen up the mood a bit, but he’s tired, so he just burrows himself into the covers that Cas had somehow gotten him under, and allows Cas to throw an arm around his waist.

He’ll think about everything tomorrow–the fact he just got off from a hand job another guy supplied him. Now he just wants to indulge in Castiel’s warm bed (which he thinks that the heat is seventy percent from Castiel, himself). Yeah, maybe he’s somehow slid closer to Castiel who’s chin now rests above his head, and his hand a little too close to his crotch, but he’s drunk (kind of) and wants to sleep. So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr: fandomswithbandoms.tumblr.com  
> Check out my nsfw tumblr: bottomdeanblog.tumblr.com


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